


From Lupin to Holmes, from policeman to burglar, there was no winner nor defeated.

by SEHathaway



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arsène Lupin - Freeform, Begging, Blow Jobs, Burglary, Cover Art, Crown Jewels, Detective, Disguise, First Kiss, French, Gentleman-Thief, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, M/M, Mind Games, Orgasm Denial, Puzzles, Raoul d'Andresy, Robbery, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Smoking, Trapped, breaking into the tower, chemistry talk, clothes getting put off, hidden secret doors, my art, playing a game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-14 23:29:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11218479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SEHathaway/pseuds/SEHathaway
Summary: Tranlation to the french original quote: "De Lupin à Sholmès, de policier à cambrioleur, il n'y avait ni vainqueur ni vaincu."Arsène Lupin is the famous French gentleman-thief. Elegant, Intelligent and witty. Mischievous, seductive. Master of Disguise.One day he decides to steal the crown jewels and Sherlock Holmes gives him a Challenge. A Challenge neither of the two can win nor lose.Sherlock Holmes only sees one way out of it. French / English pastime is created.-> with cover drawn by me(Arsène Lupin/Sherlock Holmes) (Pre John)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rpgtoul](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rpgtoul).



> Well hello!
> 
> This is a work a lovely french woman and me wrote together and as soon we finished this I wanted to share it with you since nothing with these two charcters was uploaded here.  
> Give Arsène Lupin some love, he more than deserves it.
> 
>    
> (((Translations of the french messages are in the end notes.)))  
> SEH ~*-°~

 

 

 

I plan to steal the Crown Jewels tonight at midnight. I hope it doesn't bother you, Mr. Holmes, but I'm sure it will be more useful in my pocket rather than yours. AL

 

 Let's make a challenge out of it. You and me alone, without backup or police. At midnight. Who of us is faster to steal them. SH

 

A challenge ? You know I can't resist to the challenges. Alright, let's doing that. But I prefer to warn you : You will lose. AL

 

Do not make hasty conclusions. I have my own methods. SH

 

I know your methods very well. The Science of the Deduction, right ? You're a clever man. Resourceful. I'm sure it will be an interesting game. AL

 

Interesting game indeed. See you on midnight, Mr. Lupin. SH

 

I'll see you. But I don't think you'll see me, Mr. Holmes. AL

 

 

Sherlock put his phone away and thought about using his only trump card he had in hand against Arsène Lupin. He went in his mind palace to forge a plan and two backup plans.

 

Arsène was preparing the final touches of his disguise. He was a perfect inspector Lestrade, better than the real, like that. He had only to wait until the evening. He smiled at the glasses, then got out of his house.

 

Half an hour before midnight Sherlock arrived at the Tower and looked around. He than ran into the shadows casted by the building, fliped up his color and lighted a cigarette. As the second one was stumped off on the ground he checked his watch. Five minutes before midnight.

 

Arsène checked himself in a little mirror for the last time, then got out of the car, parked far enough not to be visible. He approached the Tower. It was going to become interesting. **"Sherlock !"** He called him as he walked towards the detective, imitating the voice of Inspector Lestrade. **"What are you doing here, so late ?"** He asked, curiously.

 

 **"I could ask you the same thing, Greg."** Sherlock didn't even looked at the Inspector. And took a look at his watch again. Midnight. **"If you would excuse me, I need to steal the crown juwels before someone else does it."** Sherlock took a small needle out of his watch and started to pick the alarm system. He entered 0000 and the lock sliped open.

 

Arsène was inwardly jubilant. Why try to burglarize the Tower of London when Sherlock Holmes did it for you ? The detective had become the accomplice of the burglar gentleman without knowing it. **"You're going to steal what ?"** He looked surprised, before rolling his eyes. **"Sherlock, what is this story, again?"**

 

Since Inspector Detective Gregory Lestrade didn't even blicked as Sherlock called him by his real name instead of Gavin Sherlock knew exactly what was going on. He picked his way through every lock they saw. **"Arsene Lupin the infamous French thief is going to steal the crown jewels, he texted me. And I answerd why not make a challenge out of it. He agreed and now I'm going to steal them before he does. Isn't that obvious?"** He stoped at the crossing crown jewels right - > and prison left <-. He took the left turn.

 

Arsène rolled his eyes, following the detective. **"Alright, but I have to follow you, the procedure, all that. I can't let you in the middle of the night stealing a historical treasure like that."** He showed no vexed expressions, when Sherlock named infamous. But he replied almost immediately. **"I know him, the media have talked a lot about this man. He steals only the rich and never hurts anyone, we should have more criminals like him."** He paused. **"We'd never catch them, but we'd live in peace."** However, he noticed that Sherlock was mistaken, when he took the left turn. He had visited the Tower several times before preparing the burglary, and knew the plan accurately. "Not that way." He said, pointing to the right. **"We have to turn there."**

 

 **"No, we don't. I happen to know the crown jewels are in restoration down in the prison right now a dupicate is placed there."** Sherlock pointed at the right sign. **"And it pity that you think that way, thief is thief. If he harms anyoe or not."** Sherlock jumped down the stairs and started to pick another lock and than searched for the number #567000 in the storeroom. **"Hey, Greg. Can you help me and search for the number #567000 in here is no order whatsoever."**

 

A duplicate ? Yet he had observed the crown, he could not be mistaken. He had seen real gems shining. Arsène looked discreetly at his watch. They had to hurry, there was only a short time. He had planned a diversion, which was to start at a specific time. He foresaw that Sherlock would instinctively leave the room, to check where the noise was coming from. He would then have only a few seconds to steal the crown, putting his card and lie on the ground, making it appear that Inspector Lestrade, trying to stop the gentleman burglar, had become knocked out. **"The number 567000 ? Alright..."** Arsène Lupin's intuition rarely lied to him. Something was wrong, but he could not figure out what. He had made no mistakes. His Lestrade's imitation was perfect. Careful, he began to search, rather lazily. **"You're wrong."** He said. **"He isn't just a thief. He's more than that."**

 

 **"More than just a thief struggleing for attention? I don't think so."** Sherlock answerd and searched quickly to find it before Lupin did. He found it a few seconds later rembering the position and sliping a gps sender untop of a rather small jewel. Smriking he continued to search for something. **"Found anything yet?"**

 

Arsène shrugged his shoulders, then slid his hand through the false gray hair on his head. **"Not yet."** He continued to move forward, searching for the requested number. He added nothing to what Sherlock had said. What could he reply ? It was true that he loved attention. But he especially loved challenge, audacity. He saw the crown. **"Here."** Strange that the detective did not notice it before. Unless... Cutting off his thoughts, a shrill alarm rang out.

 

 **"Argh what the Hell? Did you saw anyone coming inside? Where are the crown jewels?"** Sherlock threw his hands in the air and fastly turned in direction of Lestrade.

 

 **"I think he's in the Crown Jewels's room. Of course he's there, he couldn't know it was a duplicate."** Arsène looked around, then designated the crown. **"I take care of it. Go and stop him."**

 

 **"Yeah but he wouldn't be dumb enought to keep the alarm going. Something's really off."** Sherlock said while walking out of the room and running up the stairs. Before stoping at the top and waiting for something to happen.

 

Arsène waited to hear the footsteps of the detective move away, before approaching the crown. He watched it for a few moments, observing the brilliance of the gems. Then he took it to the back of the room, hid it under a dusty cardboard box. He would have to come back the next day, disguised as an employee. He put his card on the shelf, lay down on the floor, eyes closed and waited for Sherlock to come back.

 

Sherlock got nearly run other by the police officers. He explainted everything and they went down to the storeroom. He saw Lupin disguised as Lestrade laying on the floor and saw Lupin card on the shelf. **"Argh, no, no! Lupin might already left the builing but search for clues!"** One half of the police men ran back upstairs to catch the thief and Sherlock and the other half stayed in the storeroom. One went to Lestrade laying on the floor and Sherlock walked around in the room searching for any moved dust line. As he saw the dusty cardboard box was moved back and the floor was seen. He smirked but looked around searching for something. Sherlock heard Lupin grunt and coming back to his never lost conscious. **"Oh awake again are we?"**

 

Arsène touched the back of his head, grimacing. One of the policemen helped him to get up, and it was necessary to confess that the burglar was an excellent actor. **"This man... I don't know how he did, he ran away... He came from behind. I have nothing broken, just... The Crown..."** He met Sherlock's gaze. His heart accelerated in his chest. Then he looked discreetly around him. How many policemen there were ? He did not even try to count. "You were right, a thief is a thief, after all." He rubbed his neck. **"Did you find anything ?"**

 

Sherlock laught out loud. **"I won you know?"** Sherlock muttered and looked Lestrade in the eye.

 

Arsène kept silent for a few seconds. Then the facial features relaxed, his back straightened. He looked different. Taller, younger, more dynamic. The policeman who had helped him to get up, got back instinctively, shocked. Arsene laughed. **"Bravo, Mr.Holmes, well played."**

 

 **"Wait you don't want me to explain? You give up that easy? Today's my lucky day than."** Sherlock laught waiting for any sudden movement from the thief.

 

Arsène didn't move, looking to the detective. **"Oh, I know how you did it."** He designated the box, where he had hidden the Crown Jewels. **"Dust. You knew thanks to the dust."** He tapped the policeman next to him's shoulder, like if he was Lestrade. **"Don't make this face."**

 

 **"Wrong."** Sherlock smirked satisfaction glimming in his eyes.

 

Arsène blinked, then nodded. **"Your reputation didn't lie. Alright, tell me how you understood I wasn't the inspector Lestrade."** He held out his wrists, waiting for the handcuff. **"Mister Holmes, please. You are the only one who deserves to do that."** He smiled, quietly.

 

 **"For one you didn't bat a eyelash at me when I called you Greg. Which the real Lestrade would notice immediately. Secondly I brought Lestrade to make vacation today, so why does he knows where I am. Nobody Runs randomly around the Tower. Especially not Gavin."** says with a proud tone. **"Thirtly as you were right I say the misplacement of the box and assument you hurried yourself, furthermore you said and indeed never hurt anyone while stealing things. Now an Inspector is laying unconcious on the ground. And I had a trump card."** Sherlock said while walking to the box, lifting it to reveal the crown and picking it up.

 

 **"Very clever. Very well done. Congratulations."** Arsène complimented the detective, at each of the deductions he had helped him to understand what was happening. The gentleman burglar remained as calm as if he were not surrounded by police officers and had no chance of escape. **"I would like you to explain the story about the first name of Inspector Lestrade, one day. But for now, it was perfect a reasoning. I'm delighted to have played with you. It was very entertaining."** He approached Sherlock, his wrists still held out. **"Your trump card ? Explain."**

 

Sherlock smirk grew. **"Well remember what I told you about the crown being in restauration?"** As Sherlock sensed the thief slowly reaching out for the crown. The detective slowly lifted the crown higher and over his head.

 

 **"Oh. Smart. "** Arsène did not give up his happiness. **"A GPS tracker. It would have been useless."** He added. **"I was not going to take the crown until the next day. I would have come as an employee and would have gone with the national treasure of England."** He smiled at the thought. **"I would have avenged Waterloo !"** He added, laughing.

 

Sherlock picked the tracker of the crown. **"Oh that. Wrong! That was just a plan B and you accually managed to escape."** The detective took a step back and lifted the crown even higher and his smile almost grew maniac wide before slamming the crown on the ground. It bursted into pieces and diamonds flew through the air.

 

Arsène didn't even flich. His intuition wasn't wrong, one more time. **"A duplicate."** He looked at the ground, then shrugged. **"We can't win everytime, Mr.Holmes."** He picked a diamond on the ground, playing with it in the light of the neon on the ceilling. **"Mh. An esthete like me. How couldn't I notice it ? Maybe I did."** He smiked, without looking at Sherlock. **"Anyone is upstairs to check the real Crown Jewels ? I would send policemen there, if I was you."**

 

Sherlock voice turned into a growl. **"And maybe I just broke the real crown just for you to not get it you filthy hands."** He snarled while reaching fastly for a pair of handcuffs and cliping them around one of Arsène's wrist and around his own. **"I already don't like this idea but this keeps you in my hitting range."** Sherlock just went out of the room, while a few policement are still looking shocked at the wreck of glass and metal on the ground. Sherlock grunted while walking up the stairs and tearing Arsène with him.

 

Arsène calmly followed Sherlock in the stairs, but couldn't keep his quiet step, while the detective was pulling so hard against the handcuffs. **"Calm down, it's not as if the crown was going to fly away. In fact, maybe so."** He replied, in a mocking tone, before adding. **"You couldn't break the real crown. This masterpiece is too precious, important, magnificent. Symbolic too. For England and for you."** He paused, before whispering : **"Moriarty."** Then he made a little disappointed pout. **"My filthy hands ? It was not very nice Mr. Holmes. For days I worked here. I became friend with the director, and I learned of the existence of this second crown in the basement. I'm an artist."**

 

Sherlock stopped moving and tore Arsène near his face. **"Yes your filthy hands also I'm never nice and now shut up."**

 

Arsène tore Sherlock close to his face and growled. **"You have no idea what happened to me and you also have no idea what I've all been through. If you don't mind push you're ego down a bit, yeah? And show a bit of respect."** The burgluar grinned. **"And by the way have the thought why the policemen where here so fast come to you mind?"**

 

God, no. All of these belong to Arsène he lied to me. Thought Sherlock and looked shocked into Lupins eyes.

 

 **"Now if you don't mind?"** Arsène shook his hand which was still cuffed to Sherlocks. And grinned even wider as Sherlock huffed out an annoyed sigh and opened the lock and released both of their hands. Lupin rubbed at his wrist. **"Thank you, Mister Holmes."**

 

 **"And what now? Do you let one of your little minions point a gun at me and shove me out of the building into a old fabic where they can shoot me?"** Sherlocks mocked the burglar with a raised eyebrow and a small scent of defence. He was outnumbered what else could he do anyway. His mind was busy forging a backup plan as fast as it could.

 

 

Arsène laught. **"No, of course I would not do that. If I go to my car now you would follow me anyway, Mr. Holmes."** He said and startd to walk calmly to the entrance and through the open door outside without a look back.

 

 

Sherlock followed him with hs eyes before sighing dramatically and following with quick steps. As he reached the car out side Arsène was already waiting for him and talked to the driver. He opened the door and turned to Sherlock. Lupin helt his hand out in the direction of the detective and he climped in, ignoreing the hand. Arsène huffed out a laugh and climped in after him.

 

 **"La cachette habituelle ?" "Oui, comme d'habitude, Marco. Merci."** Arsène answered and started to remove his disguise. He shrugged of his jacket and opened a secret compartment in the back of the front seat and carefully placed his folded jacket inside. **„Practically am I right?“**

 

 **„** **Mhhhhh.“** Sherlock answered. Despreatly not trying to look over his shoulder at the currently appereing thief underneight the disguise of DI Lestrade. The usual place huh, interesting.

 

 **"Sherlock ? You can look at me. I told the truth earlier in the tower. I've never hurt anyone on my burglaries and I don't plan to. You can look at me."** He chuckled as he removed the last piece of fake flesh around his chin and checked in the little mirror attached to the seat in front of him if everything was gone.

 

 **"I** **hope you don't just say that."** He needed to distract himself with anything before he out of compressed curiosity took a glace a the thief sitting relaxed next to him. Anything. A way out. Well he tried that for the last 30 minutes. The periodic table that should give him at least enough distraction to name all of them, with the features of every element. H -hydrogen, nonmetal, first main group, first period, standard atomic weight 1.00784, ...

 

Arsène Lupin was not a man who likes to be ignored. And what he wanted now was Sherlock Holmes to look at him. Why ? Why did not he grab the opportunity to remain in the shadow of the mysteries forever ? Why did he want the only man who could stop him to recognize him ? He didn't know. But his intuition, something inside of him demanded it. And he would get it. **"Look at me, Mr. Holmes. Look at me face, look at who I am."** He grabbed the detective's wrist. **"I know you want to see me."**

 

Pt -Platinium, metal, tenth main group, sixth period, Standard atomic weight 195.084,.... As Arsene graped his wrist he closed his eyes and hissed. **"Melting point 1768.3 °C, Boiling point 3825 °C, let my hand go. Electrons per shell 2, 8, 18, 32, 17, 1. I said let my hand go. Oxidation states 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, −1, −2, −3....."** Sherlock kept his eyes as closed as possible and continued to call out the features Platinium had. **"Electronegativity Pauling scale: 2.28."**

 

 **"Atomic number : 78."** Arsene added softly. He didn't release Sherlock's hand, however. **"Antonio de Ulloa discovered it in.. 1748. See ? I know a lot of information, too. Now that you have shown me the prodigious prowess of your wonderful mind, and the way your mind palace stores them, we could talk like two gentlemen. Look at me."** His tighened the detective's wrist, careful to not make the grip painful. Just firm. **"Sherlock Holmes."** He whispered. **"You read too many books. I'm not the Phantom of the Opera. Look at me."** The driver didn't even care about what was going on. He saw so many strange things. He just kept driving, watching carefully the road.

 

Sherlock shifted closer to the door of the car. **"I accually don't know the book, I'm just familiar with the play. Maybe you are, the Phantom is also from France. "** Sherlock was in serious trouble now. He didn't knew what would happen if he opened his eyes and he didn't wanted to know what happend if he kept them closed. He could go back into his mind palace because his transport was in danger. All he could do was get the hand from his wrist. He grabed it with his other hand and tried to rip it off.

 

Arsène released the detective's hand, when he began to struggle. **"You have no reason to be... scared."** He didn't get back, always close to Sherlock. **"There's nothing wrong about you seeing how I really am. Who I am."** He could just have left him alone. But it bothered him, and the more he refused to look at him, the more he wanted him to see the real face of the burglar. He gently took him chin, turning him head. **"Open your eyes, there's no reason to keep them closed, I will not hurt you."** He spoke slowly.

 

Sherlock drew his eyebrows together and shook his head slowly. But he didn't tried to get the hand off his chin nor opened his eyes. He didn't even knew why he didn't wanted to see the thiefs face or why was suddenly so nervous. A nervous tic of his was to lick his lips and exactly that was a mistake. Because now he could feel the breath of the other man on his damp bottom lips and he suddenly realised how close Arsène must be leaning. And that realisation brought him to his next mistake. He opened his eyes, slowly, looking right into the thief's ones.

 

Arsène's chest went up and down quickly. He was looking into the detective's gaze, with his green and clear eyes, sparkling with life. Black hair and disheveled hair contrasted with the whiteness of his skin. But his cheeks lit up red, as he did not move, a few inches from Sherlock's lips. He did not want to move, though. His whole being, his attitude, the very features of his face were dynamic, young and sparkling. Sparkling like the French champagne he liked to drink. Sparkling like the intelligent and witty man he was. His long, thin fingers still on the chin of the detective. A slight smile illuminated his face, and there was something infinitely calculating and childish about him. Ironically and mischievously, but never cynical. **"Nice to meet you, Mr.Holmes."**

 

Sherlock couldn't breathe. The detective was acually stunned with how young Lupin looked not younger than he himself but not much older either. Arsène Lupin, the famous French thief. Sherlock thought. How his french accent played with is last name, and now overly more obvious than before. Sherlocks face stayed blank as he liftet his hand and layed it down on Lupin's chest to feel the heart beat thump in his chest. After a while Sherlock needed to breathe again and the air carried the sent, probably created from his aftershave and perfume together, through the air into Sherlocks lungs. He couldn't say anything he just continued to sit there in the black car with Arsène Lupin, his hand on Lupins chest and both men staring in the others eyes.

 

As if to answer the silent interrogations of the detective, Arsène said softly : **"I started very young."** But the joke was a reality. When he was seven years old, he committed his first burglary. A necklace, which belonged long centuries before to the Queen Marie-Antoinette, and which had been acquired by Lupin's cousins. A shadow passed over his face. His eyes didn't sparkle anymore. The Dreux-Soubise. He remembered his mother, exploited by them. He hated them. It didn't last much longer than a second, but his all attitude, his entire expression, was full of pain and profound melancholy. Then he felt Sherlock's hands on his chest, and the sad memories evaporate, fading away. They remained nothing of them on the face again full of life of the gentleman-burglar. Arsene was a passionate man, as much as he had patience and an infinite sense of strategy. He got everything he wanted. He had just to take for having. But the hands of the detective on his body, the thrill that passed through him, this mixture of adrenaline and sweetness. The cocoon of the car, the purring of the London traffic.

All this was different. So different from all the treasures and hearts he had stolen before.

Slowly, with a gentle and careful movement, he put his hands on Sherlock's, covering them. Keeping them at the exact place where they were supposed to be, and where he didn't want them to move.

 

Suddenly Sherlock discoverd that the only way out iof this situation would be to give in, to let Lupin win. So he did he breathed our slowly and let his eyes flutter close. A sudden jolt tookover Sherlocks last move, and his lips were pressed against the thiefs. He drew a played surprised breath through his nose and his hand clawed itself on the fine jacket Arsène wore. He didn't moved his lips but pushed his head foreward to gain a reaction from the thief whom was apparently paralised. Sherlock let his being relax and waited for an answer.

 

Arsène didn't expect the detective to make the first move. Besides, before embarking in this car, he didn't know that the events would evolve like this. However, Arsène never refused to grab an opportunity, especially when the opportunity is as attractive as Sherlock Holmes. After the first moments of surprise passed, he returned the kiss to the other man, almost struggling to the control. He kept his eyes open. He had never been able to close his eyes when he was kissing, always too careful for that. His hand instinctively went into the detective's dark curls, playing with them, and a soft groan escaped from his lips. After a long moment, he broke the kiss, breathing quickly. **"Mr.Holmes... Je ne savais pas que vous embrassiez si bien... Comme un français. "** A smirk came to his lips, before he kissed Sherlock again. His lips was so sweet, curved and toxic. Addictive. Arsene loved that.

 

Good kisser? Well Sherock acctually couldn't hide the blush at the complement. **"Moi non plus."** Sherlock whispered at Lupins lips. And again the chemicals took over in his brain and that made him vulnerable and exposed. Endorphins made this feel good and right. Oxytocin blinded his brain with want, lust and let the mistake he just made forget. Adrenaline speeded up his heart rate and dialated his pupils. Dopamine let him want more. Sherlock indeed wanted more and more. His mind despreatly trying to keep control but steadily losing it. The detectives free hand grabed the thiefs shoulder and tore him closer. Than it moved to his neck. Their kissing changed into lust driven snogging and as Arsène took control over that and licked at Sherlocks bottom lip, Sherlock let out his first sound. Which was embarrassly a low whine.

 

Arsène had spoken in French, without even thinking that the detective was not supposed to understand it. It didn't matter, the sentence was less important than the tone of his voice. But when Sherlock answered him, his body shuddered with thrilling desire. And his mind clung desperately to the three words said by Holmes. Totally absorbed in the sensations of their caresses, a small part of his brain analyzed everything. The elements tied together quickly, and if he hadn't understood instantly, it was only because of the lips on his.

Sherlock Holmes understood French. Sherlock Holmes knew where the car was bringing them, after Arsène's discussion with Marco.

The gentleman burglar left the detective's lips to descend into his neck, following the shapes of the white skin. Against his own lips, he could feel the heartbeat of the other man, beating against the carotid. His long, think fingers, with the agility of the thief he was, pulled out the first buttons of Sherlock's shirt. To have more skin to kiss, more sensations to explore.

It was both passionate and dangerous. He knew that the slightest mistake would throw him directly in jail. But the reward had dark curls and blue eyes to be damned for. So, his lips continued to descend, while his hands slipped under the cloth that hid Sherlock's body at his sight.

 

Sherlock opened his eyes and hissed as cold hands opened his shirt and caressed his skin. He could almost feel the goosebumps rising as they followed the trail of the fingers. Sherlock tipped his head back and presented his long neck to the thief as he kissed his artery. His eyes moved to the driver who sat behind the wheel and kept his eyes on the road like they weren't undressing each other in the back seat.

Each other? No, Sherlock is getting undressed by Arsène, while he is still wearing everything but his gloves which got thrown on the floor. As the last button of his shirt slipped out of its hole Sherlock looked back at Lupin who smiled proudly and mischievous at Sherlock. His eyes gleamed from under his long eyelashes as he kissed down Sherlocks breastbone.

Sherlocks upper body is slumped against the door jacket and shirt open his light skin exposed and he was shining everytime they passed a street light. Arsène would be in his lap, kissing down his chest, if Sherlocks feet weren't glued on the floor and didn't move. His left leg and lower back started to cramp at the position. Lupin had one knee planted on the seat, his other foot was on the floor and he was hovering over Sherlock like a predator over his well-earned prey.

 **"Lupin?"** Sherlock whispered and looked in Arsènes emerald green eyes and tore his to his lips again. Forgotten what he wanted to say, the words lost and swam away with another rush of chemical in his brain and body.

 

Arsène took the time to observe the scene before his eyes. The body of the detective, his skin shivering. The lights that threw illusory drawings on his chest, disappearing the next moment. As an esthete he was, Lupin knew how to recognize a real painting of a vulgar copy. He hadn't, moreover, let himself manipulate by the imitation of the crown, and as successful as can be a duplicate, he could always distinguish it from the true masterpiece.

So, when he was looking at Sherlock, in the car that was still driving through the city, he knew he had a real masterpiece before his expert gaze. A painting he would have carefully preserved.

 

Sherlock snatched him in a kiss, and he looked so differently from the cold, distant detective, the shadow of a blush hovering over his cheeks, matching the tint of his lips, reddened with kisses.

The thief's left hand slipped into his back, slipping on his shoulders, descending under the shoulder blades and resting on his lower back. Firmly, but not authoritatively. He broke the kiss reluctantly, and a satisfied smile hovered over his lips.

 

 

**"Oui, Mr. Holmes ?"**

He rolled his French accent against his tongue. He played with the collar of his white shirt, with his right hand. He wore a costly French suit, chosen with care and elegance. He had hidden it under a long cloak, like those that Lestrade wore. After removing the inspector's disguise, gray hair and the set of artifices he used to change his appearances, Arsène had locked up the cloak in the secret compartment. It was only one garment, but it was the accessory that ended up transforming him completely.

As Arsène Lupin, he was elegant but not prim. Dandy and refined without becoming bourgeois. It was the immense paradox of his life. Gentleman but burglar. No, not 'but'. Gentleman and burglar.

The vehicle eventually stopped. The man named Marco, the driver, kept silent. His boss didn't care about his presence, totally absorbed by the detective beneath him. If he had wanted to observe the reflection of what was going on in the rear-view mirror, he could only have seen Lupin's body and the vague form of an another man. But Marco wasn't interested in what was going on. His boss was seductive, and it wasn't the first time that something similar happened. Rarely with so much passion, however. And Marco thought he recognized the face of the man, the detective with the funny cap. The one we were talking about in the media. Not that it interested Marco, of course.

 

After long minutes Arsène seemed to realize that the car was parked in front of the hideout. A chic London building with white walls. He glanced at Marco's neck before concentrating again on Sherlock. The driver asked, always looking the road and with the most natural tone in the world : **"Rester garé ici ne serait pas prudent, Monsieur. Voulez vous que je continue de rouler pendant le temps nécessaire ?"**

Arsene kissed the detective's neck before answering, lazily, as if he didn't know that Sherlock understood his words: **"Peut-être... Est ce qu'Octave a mis la courronne en lieu sûr ?" "Evidemment, comme d'habitude, patron." "Parfait, parfait."** He turned his attention to the detective, and brushed his lips before whispering against his mouth.

**"Where ? There's a bed ready for us in this flat. Or we stay in the car. You are my guest, so I let you choose."**

  


Sherlock got ripped out of his lust driven haze as his brain slowly translated the french words into englisch and again a few seconds later his brain started to understand what these words meant.

He looked with wide eyes at Lupin and before he could react or look away Lupin caught his look and raised an eyebrow. Instead of looking down and blushing be let his eyes blink rapidly and kept his gaze on the thief lips. He hated that his brain got so slow when it was flowed with the chemicals and hormones. But exactly those chemical let his drug user side crave a cigarette or maybe two to get his brain free and able to process rational thoughts.

He needed to get out of this and thought about the opitons he had.Staying in the car with Lupin alone, maybe brought him the advantage that he wasn't outnumbered anymore, but he didn't knew if Arsène had a gun or a knive. If yes he was put underneath. Going inside with him, he definetly was outnumbered then, but maybe he could get a weapon himself and hide in the flat. Arsène knew this flat very well be was put underneath again. His situation was hopeless. Sherlock Holmes felt to 96 procent defeated. He cleared his throat.

 **"Actually, I'm in a desperate need for a cigarette. Shall I light one up inside here or outside?"** He smiled and started to push Arsène back slightly so he could reached for the pack of cigarettes. He took one out and hold the open pack to Lupin.

  


**"Outside, Marco hates when the seats smell of cold tobacco."** Arsène tried to open the door, but it was desperately closed. He said to the driver. **"Quelle est cette manie de toujours tout verrouiller ! Mr. Holmes n'est pas mon prisonnier, il est libre."**

The gentleman-burglar had a detail that he expected to change into an important asset. Sherlock didn't know he knew he understood French. That could change everything. Marco opened the door of the detective, and then his boss. As he got out, Arsène took a deep breath. The air was fresh, the sky without any star. The streetlights lit up the sidewalks. He willingly accepted a cigarette, brought it to his lips, and took out a silver lighter from his pocket, where the initials RA were engraved.

 **"I am a great supporter of the pleasures of life. People think too often to act according to what is supposed to be good for them. But the only thing that really matters is to be happy."** He gave the lighter to Sherlock. **"Keep it, I have a lot of them."**

Arsène looked up at the inked sky. **"Be happy. In spite of all that it costs, in spite of the pains and the sacrifices. Be happy to enjoy everything, all the time. Be happy as a schoolboy's duty, a promise in the rain, or just a flickering candle."** He threw a puff of smoke into the air, then looked at Sherlock and smiled. **"Are you happy, Mr.Holmes ?"**

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey, I know I messed up this fomation and it shows up as finished even though it isn't.  
> I hope that didn't bothered you as much.
> 
> Mature content imcoming!
> 
>  
> 
> Have fun reading the second part!!!!
> 
> (((Translations of the french messages are in the end notes.)))  
> SEH ~*-°~

 

 

 

 

 

 

Again Sherlock stared wide eyed at the burglar. He hadn't closed the buttons on his open shirt yet and just wrapped his long coat around his body. Cigarette and Lupins lighter in hand he looked at Arsène with his head tilted to the side. Why did this thief care how he felt? Maybe he didn't cared and just did smalltalk over a shared smoke. He had giving Sherlock his lighter, he was playing with the thought to leave it somewhere with a note in Arsènes flat when they went inside eventually. Or maybe he kept it as souvenir.

Sherlock didn't aswered Arsene on this question but he thought about it anyway. Was he happy, well kind of he was gald that he got off the hard drugs he used before coming clean. Well smoking isn't heathy either but way better than to shoot up cocain or heroine up his vains to stop his brain from working like a unstoppable maschine. But was he happy in general? Well he had his life and a few friends even though he called himself a highfuctioning sociopath, he could appreciate his few friends. He didn't had a love interest nor was he interested in such kind of thing neither did sex scare or repell him. He just sex in a way to get his transport off. Because of this he didn't cared if it was a man or a woman that was satifying his transport.

But with Lupin it was weird, because Lupin knew him, maybe. At least Arsène knew him since three and a half hours and for Sherlock were 10 minutes enough to understand an other human being. But all the others, who talked him up in a bar or a pub and despreatly tried to take the goregous man home with them and have him for themselfs for a few hours. Lupin wasn't like that, he let Sherlock have his free room if he needed too. And only took advantage if Sherlock let him or wanted him too. Sherlock finally lighted up his cigarette and inhaled deep and let his smoke breath drift out off his nose and mouth at the same time with a satisfyed sigh.

 

 

Arsene smirked, seeing the thinking he had triggered in the mind of the detective. He took another puff of smoke, keeping it in his lungs for a few seconds before letting it escapes. He appreciated the silence of this moment. The street was strangely deserted. Not a single night walker to watch them. And even if there was a crowd around them, he didn't care. Arsene Lupin had nothing to hide. Because only few people knew his true face, because he could become who he wanted. His life was a continual lie. Was he happy ?

The thief had never been able to answer this question in all honesty. He was trying to convince himself that he was. But leading this existence, everything was fleeting and ephemeral. Love never lasted, effaced in the morning. His identities disappeared, and others were reborn. Everything was too fast, too many. These conquests whispered to his ears that they loved him. Always being suspicious of everyone. Extraverted but lonely in the middle of the crowd.

He was afraid of waking up one morning without knowing who he really was, losing his real face and true name. This name which he had removed from the civil state, and which he had never stolen. Arsène Lupin. His only real identity.

He approached Sherlock, put his hand on his cheek and drew him in a short kiss. These questions didn't matter. Because he was alive.

 

**"Marco will bring you to your home with pleasure, if that's what you want. Otherwise..."**

He glanced to the building.

**"Otherwise you can come with me. It's up to you."**

He watched the detective for a long time. He could see his bare skin under the coat. But Sherlock Holmes was not only a beautiful man. He was a person of rare intelligence. The only one he thought could compete with his own genius.

 **"There are no bad or good answers to this game. We will all lose in the end."** Arsene said, looking nonchalantly towards the building. The lights on the first-floor apartment had just turned on. The thief laughed.

 **"Me, Arsène Lupin, I am being burgled, don't you think it's funny, Mr. Holmes ? "** He exchanged a look with the detective. **"Maybe I should call the police."** This thought made him laugh again. He took his time to appreciate the last puffs of smoke of the cigarette, before crushing it. He put on his gloves, then calmly approached the entrance to the building. **"I think duty is calling me, Mr. Holmes. And it's time for the decision. Whatever you decide, I had a wonderful evening."**

Arsene smiled one last time at the detective and then entered. He passed the silver letter boxes, one of which the name _"Raoul d'Andresy"_ was engraved. He climbed the stairs, wondering what Holmes was going to do. But somehow, his fabulous intuition told him that he didn't have to worry. That this story was not over.

As he approached the door of his apartment, he saw that it was open. Without fear, he entered. He walked down the corridor, heading towards the living-room where the lamps were lit. The flat was tastefully decorated, and a typical French something. Quietly, confident in himself and his abilities. After all, the gentleman-burglar was not going to let himself be robbed without reacting !

A woman standing in the center of the room. A long black dress that stood below her knees. She was standing at Arsene's back, and turned round the moment she heard him. But he had already recognized this silhouette and gray hair.

**"Victoire ?"**

**"My little one !"**

**"What are you doing here ?"**

He asked, as he approached her, to take her in his arms for a moment. The English accent of the woman was rather bad, but she still insisted on discussing in the language of the country where they were. A question of principle, according to her.

**"Octave came to my house, and you know what he was bringing ?"**

She came out of a large paper bag, a shape surrounded by fabric that Arsene recognized. She unpacked it cautiously. The jewels of the crown shone under the lights of the lamps of his apartment. She made a disappointed pout as the thief glanced out the window.

 **"You've totally lost your mind. It's a unique piece, and imagine if the police find the crown in my house ! My little one, go and put it back where you took it..."** The gentleman-burglar grabbed Victoire by the shoulders. He spoke softly, but firmly.

**"Look at me, you have to leave, now. I'm waiting for someone."**

**"Another girls, mh ?"**

**"Not this time."**

**"A guy, so. You know, it doesn't change anything, but you'd have to think about stabilizing yourself... Your poor mother..."**

**"You'll tell me all this again, but later, please."**

Arsene did not want Holmes to see Victoire in his apartment. It would have been infinitely dangerous for his safety. She was the only link between all the different parts of his life, her only family. The woman who had gathered him after the death of his mother, who raised him alone. And also, a precious help for some of the most daring burglaries.

**"I need your discretion, my dear Victoire."**

He quickly packed the crown, put it in the bag and handed it to the woman, who seemed annoyed.

**"But it's the night and..."**

**"Marco is outside, he'll recognize you and bring you home, when you're far enough away from the apartment. Right now, you have to get out of here. Quickly. And take care of the crown."**

She rolled her eyes, and went out clamoring that she would require explanations later. Arsene sighed in relief, and looked back into the street, while Victoire was coming down the stairs. He saw her disappear into the night. Then he arranged his hair, looking at himself in the reflection of the glass. Waiting for Sherlock Holmes.

 

 

Holmes watched the scenery for a moment longer shivering when the wind picked up and small drops of water fell from the clouds and on his exposed skin on his shoulders. He threw the cigarette on the ground and didn't even bothered to put it out. Either will the rain do it's job or it burned to the end and the only thing that would be left would be ash which would be transported away with the wind.

Sherlock looked back at the driver who still was seated in the car, his sight glued on the pavement. Marco either waited for him to climp back in or leave and enter the house. He was taller than Sherlock was and more muscular. He had brown hair, dyed. Sherlock couldn't see his eyes but he guessed those were in a differed color aswell. The boss so the minions. Marco worked for a rather long time for Arsène since he knew everything what Arsène asked of. Marco, ...., origin latin, common countries, Italy, Netherlands, Austria, Portugal could not be geographic more far from France. Not his real name than. But Sherlock wouldn't expect otherwise from the thief. The longer Sherlock looked at him the more nervous Marco seemed to get and started to look at Sherlock through his peripheral vision. His breathing increased and his puls aggrevated.

Sherlock decided not to bother him more and turned around and went to the open entrance Arsène left open for him. He surely was waiting for him. As Holmes passed the doorframe he heard the engine start and Marco drove away. Sherlock looked after him and wondered where Marco would lead him if he followed. Maybe even to the hiding place of the crown. Maybe just to another flat Arsène owned and gave to Marco to live in.

The Detective walked into the entrance room and looked around. The floor in his sight lead him to the stairs. If he would turn right he would reach the kitchen the door was closed though but not locked. He let his view glide around the kitchen. Nothing special to see. He turned and walked to his left he found the living room, again door just closed not locked. Nothing interresting here either. Holmes only saw that the whole flat was decorated in a mordern fashion but with a few hints of victorian era furniture. Probalby something Arsène asked for himself. All of this seemed comfortable and impressive without looking that expencive but noble anyway.

He reached the bottom of stairs again and looked up and saw an open door. It would most certainly lead him to Arsène but he wanted to explore this flat further but got stopped as Arsène walked out of the open door and leant himself on the stairs railing and smiled seductively down at Sherlock. He climped up the stairs slowly, forgotten that he wanted to investigate this flat for way to escape unseen. Sherlock laught to himself as he reached Lupin.

 **"What am I doing here?"** Holmes asked with a chuckle and a shake of his head, which send his dark locks bouncing. He looked in Lupin green eyes.

  


**"It's up to you to answer that question."** Arsene slipped his tongue to his lower lip, watching the dark curls. One fell on the white forehead. From the tip of his forefinger, he pulled it back, putting it away. But it fell again, and a little laugh escaped from the burglar's lips.

 **"Rebel, isn't it ?"** He leaned against Sherlock's left ear, calming his voice until it became a soft whisper :

**"I knew you were coming back. But I'm flattered."**

His right hand began to slip under the coat, caressing the bare skin with his gloved hands. Then, the buttons disappeared quickly, as well as the gloves of Arsène, which he placed on the stairs railing.

 **"But I miss all my hosting requirements. Let me get you rid of that."** He said, a hint of ironism in his voice, as he completely removed the famous coat.

 **"I guess you don't want tea, or you'd have gone to serve you. You know exactly where the kitchen is."** He placed the coat beside the gloves, with special care not to wrinkle it.

**"But if you want to continue searching the whole building, go ahead. You will not find anything. I am an honest man. Baron Raoul d'Andresy is, at least."**

Without waiting for the answer of the detective, he slipped his hand on him neck, and made him get closer. He brushed his lips, never kissing him, just ghosting.

**"Mr.Holmes... Stop wary of me, will you ? I never hurt anybody. I have no weapons at my house. ...you can check everything. And if you wanted to escape, there is the door, and a secret entrance into my room. I'll show you."**

 

He entered the room innocently. A comfortable large bed took up the majority of the place, with a small desk on the side, in front of a window hidden by curtains.

**"It's a dumb system."**

Arsène opened a drawer of the desk, and actuated a small switch, which moved the wall opposite. A stolen entry appeared.

**"This is not my most ingenious idea, but as I said, it's complicated to renew himself. I never use the same system twice."**

The burglar smiled by thinking about the other of his rules. Each building had to have at least three entrances. A normal entry, a secret entry but not well hidden, for the police. And the third, secret and hidden. To escape. He had shown only two entries to Sherlock. He closed the wall again by pressing the button once more time.

He sat on the edge of the bed and began to undo the buttons of his shirt, looking into the detective's eyes.

**"It would be unfair if you were the only one half naked, don't you think ? As a gentleman, I have to make you feel as comfortable as possible."**

He was theatrical, clearly. But it was also part of his personality. He knew how to use the words, and it wasn't uncommon for him to get the keys of the places he wanted to burgle, only by talking to the owner. He had always had this ability over others, this natural authority.

The man who was said to be brave as d'Artagnan, as strong as Porthos, and mysterious as Monte-Cristo's earl. Some people had found this nickname, in the French government, at the time when he was still Don Luis Perenna, noble of Spain. But at that moment he hadn't the skin tanned by the sun, the black and hard eyes of the colonel of the foreign legion he pretended to be.

He was Arsène Lupin. And he made the last buttons of his shirt disappear, too, now bare-chested. He crossed his legs, and observed Holmes' reaction.

  


Sherlock squinted his eyes as he looked at Arsène trying to figure out who this Arsène Lupin really is. If he's playing a role the whole time or if this man sitting in only trousers really is Lupin. One way to find this out is to ask him, the other.....

Sherlock walked over to stand in front of the thief. He pushed Arsènes foot down and smiled as he crouched down to open his own shoes. Than he stood up again with a smirk. Sherlock sat down next to the other and looked down into Lupins eyes. Sherlock leaned down just to brush their lips against eachother, he wispered.

**"Tell me do you care I'm male? Or do you just think that my presence is a work of art for your eyes to steal?"**

 

 

Arsène smiled against Sherlock's lips as a shudder ran through him, at the detective's words.

**"You know I'm an esthete. And if you're right ? If you were a masterpiece I wanted to steal. Could I succeed ?"**

He approached slightly, to press his bare chest against the other. The burglar wasn't too muscular, but firm. Dynamic, supple, thin without being skinny. The necessities of his work compelled him to maintain an excellent physical condition. And although he didn't use them all the time, he was ready for any eventuality. **"I don't care you're a man... You're more than that, so much more."**

Arsène had mostly adventures with women, although he had some relationships with men before. But with Sherlock, it was different. Everything was different. When the detective looked him in the eye, Lupin had the impression that he was grabbed, imprisoned, recorded by that look, more exactly and more essentially than he had ever been before. That no disguise could hide him from this man anymore. He was incredibly in danger by doing so, showing himself under his real face. More than when he left his hideouts at the last moment, at the fatal moment, just before the police burst in. Yet he didn't feel vulnerable.

 **"And you ? You don't mind that I'm... Who am I ?"** He put his hand in the back of the detective, between the shoulder blades. **"Not the fact that I'm a man. Your body as a transport, you probably don't care, women or men."** He breathed in, his chest pressed against Sherlock's. **"I meant, don't you mind about my indentity. ...I'm Arsène Lupin, after all."** His hand slid down to the lower back, stopping just before the trousers.

  


It's been such a long time, what a pity really, to feel another humans touch on his skin, let his brain shut off, let the chemicals cloud his brain and his mind palace with a fog of hormons. But Sherlock couldn't let this ruin the perfection of his self contol and deductions while he was on a case. Sherlock thought while letting his eyes flutter close an breathed in Lupins scent which was a combination of smoke his perfume and aftershave. All male brands but worn off over the day but Sherlock was still able to intentify them.

But he wasn't on a case yet. It's was a game both of them played and both of them were about to lose, he himself probably even more that Arsène.

He didn't wanted to come off as someone who is despreate for someone elses touch but in moments like this when his mask was crumbeling and his real face, the face of an actual human being with feelings another can easily hurt, came to light he didn't cared one bloddy bit.

**"I am the detective with the crazy mind, the need to distraction when it's mind is not occupied enough and solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. I'm shaped of the actions other people drew on me. You are the thief with a tough background, much loss, which shaped him into the man who is sitting next to me. The act of burglary formed to perfection but with the greed for more and that fast. We're playing a game neither of us can win. Still we fit better than anybody else could."**

Sherlock reached for Lupins shoulders and lent himself backwards until he was laying on the bed and Arsène on top of him. The detective let his hand carres a scar on Lupins left cheek he hadn't noticed before. He looked in Lupin eyes before closing the gab between them and kissed the thief with a sigh. Holmes hand stayed on the cheek while the other buried itself in the dark hair Arsène presented with a mixture of pride and disapointment.

 **"Let us lose, Arsène. Together."** Sherlock whispered against Lupins lips, before kissing more sinful than ever before.

  


Arsene's eyes closed, when the detective's curved lips rested on his. He closed his eyes because he felt safe, because he felt totally sinking into that contact. Because Sherlock was right when he talked about his past. The pain of loss. Because they were going to lose, everything was going to burst and disappear in smoke, as quickly as the cigarette shared. An almost inaudible groan escaped him as his whole body pressed against Holmes's. He broke the kiss just for a moment, but never getting away from the lips that awaited him.

**"Yes, let's lose together, Sherlock."**

His French accent was more audible than ever. His pupils devoured the green eyes, as if his inner scars dared to unfold and swallow all the artifices he reared to hide them.

He raised himself slightly on his left elbow, so that his right hand caressed Holmes' chest. Then it reached the belts, and in a few movements, the two were resting somewhere on the ground.

His pulse beat rapidly in his veins, dragging with it blood and adrenaline. Instinctively, he took deep breaths, trying to calm down. To control himself, as he always did when he was in danger. But he looked into the detective's gaze, and abandoned his breath at his natural rhythm. Abandoning himself, as he slid their trousers down, letting them join the belts.

  


Sherlock groaned and threw his head back as his brain registered that both of their trousers disapeared without him moving at all or helping. He heard the thump as they colided with the wood floor. His hips bucked up experimentally which just brought him to stifle a more than embarrassing moan and let himself fell helplessly on the bed again. Struggleling to breathe properly but the thief seemed to be in the same position.

Holmes hand wandered from the nape of Arsènes neck to his back and than lower back to stop at the waitband of the pants and toyed with it. He lifted it up and let it snap back down, than back up and down. This was a move which drove everybody crazy. Arsène seemed also be one of those people as he growled into Sherlocks neck as Sherlock continued this torture.

After a while Lupin had enough and tugged hard at Sherlocks hair. That send the detective arching up and moaning out load, while he bucked up his hips against Lupins, which got him to moan and pant even more. The hand on the waistband stopped and pulled it down over the curve of Lupins ass.

  


Arsène groaned in relief and frustration as he felt that Sherlock was pulling down his underwear. But the contact was so light, he needed so much more. He arched his back, just to press his skin against the detective's hand. His fingers, tangled in the dark curls, still pulled them, only for the pleasure of hearing Holmes's reactions. The thief was now completely naked, and he threw glances tinged with desire to the only piece of cloth that separated him from Sherlock. He wasn't sweet. He pulled hard the hair again, forcing the detective to lift himself up so he could take off the underwear that was becoming annoying.

The thief slid his tongue over his lower lip, watching, detailing, recording every inch of the panting masterpiece beneath him. With a more lively and thrilling look than any painter could ever reproduce. Arsène's cheeks flushed, but no with embarrassment. Only the acceleration of his pulse, the knot that the desire formed in his lower abdomen. Slightly releasing Sherlock's hair, he kissed him jaw, neck, filled him chest with kisses that became more and more feverish. Fiery and burning.

  


Sherlock whimpered as Arsène moved down his body. All they did so far were changing out words, kissing and moving against each other like molecules of metal and Sherlock was so done already. He thought about giving him up to Lupin without him interacting anymore. Let Lupin do what he wanted to do to him. It would be feeling so good so intense giving himself over to anothers desire. Arsène would treat him like a masterpiece with all the imperfections that made him who he was. He would push Sherlock to the edge just to stop abruptly, to start all over again. And how Sherlock wanted that.

But than a next thought crossed his mind. He couldn't just let Lupin do all the work and take all the pleasure from Lupin instead of sharing it. He let Arsène do what he wanted first than he would turn them around and kiss every part of flesh he could reach. Caress every part of hidden muscle under skin and torture every end of sensitive nerve to endless satisfaction and pleasure.

He would exactly do that and nothing could bring him off.......

 

Holmes arched up from the bed with a moan of Arsènes name loud enough to be heard in the next street as something hot and wet wrapped around his member. He wanted to look what was happening but he couldn't move, he couldn't even find the strength to lift up his head. So he just concentrated on what he was feeling.

As his hip moved from pleasure again he could feel the bedsheets under his ass. No pants anymore than. Sherlock was more than fine with that. The hot wetness on his member slowly cooled down as it moved up and down in a slow pace. It didn't heated up and stayed on a level of body warmth just a hand could produce. Arsène was stroking him with his hand, spit-slick hand and it was heavenly. Sherlock wreathed on the bed and moaned a combination of Arsènes name and pleasure noises.

  


Arsène was attentive to the slighty changes, to the slighty reaction of the detective. His moanings were endless music, which seemed to fill the whole room with a warmth enveloping. Locking them away from the outside world. Lupin's chest got up and down quickly. Every sound of pleasure he tore from Sherlock, whenever his name came out of the curved and blushed with kisses lips, it directly struck the thief. Increasing the knot that had formed in him, increasing his visceral need to take everything from the detective, until he was a total mess, panting and lost on the bed. Until they both sink into a soaring bliss.

The caresses on the member accelerated, to get Sherlock even more groans and warm breaths. To make him squirm on the bed, until he grabs the sheet. Arsène felt him palpitate against his touch, and a smirk ghosted on his lips. He broke the contact before the detective reached his satisfaction. He leaned forward, trying to look into the blue eyes. Lupin was not sure that Sherlock could see him under the half-closed eyelids. But with a slow movement, he put his fingers to his lips, and licked them consciously. He leaned over Sherlock's ear and whispered, in a voice interspersed with sensual breathing :

**"It's to have made me languish with the waistband of my pants."**

Then his hand landed again on the warm member, sending it again to the edge of a pleasure he denied. He didn't count how long it lasted, but he ended up to lose the necessary control on himself to keep going. His hands grabbed his hair, pulling hard Sherlock's face to kiss him passionately, feverishly, languidly.

His weight leaned against the body under him, pushing him into the mattress and pressing his longing desire against the detective's thigh.

 **"Sh-Sherlock..."** He gasped and breathed randomly, when the kisses intenstisfied.  


 

Sherlock felt like a balloon with air being blown in just to let it out again. It was horrible but everytime Arsène started again it was heaven, before stopping and leaving Sherlock in the heat of hell. But the detective couldn't think of anything where he would rather be than in his situation. Getting his orgasm denied over and over again. He was sweating into the sheets and his hair was sticking to his forehead with it. The member of Arsène sliping in sweat on his thigh and he gasped as it rubbed on his own a few times. Sherlock tried to turn them over but Lupin pushed him into the sheets again and again. Like he wanted to show Sherlock who is in control right now and that Holmes needed to wait until Lupin allowed him to do something on his own. So Sherlock remained laying on his back moaning with desire, the need to fall over the edge, with Arsène laying on top of him and kissing him into oblivion and even further.

**"A-ahh, Arsè-è-ne, please-e."**

Holmes couldn't believe his own words. He begged, he begged the thief, to do anything, something to bring him finally release. Or torture him more Sherlock didn't knew. His limps jerking with builed up pleasure. His nails buried themself in Lupin shoulders and his head was hanging low almost strengthless moving with every movement the other did.  **"Plea-a-as-se."**

 

 

Sherlock Holmes begged. He begged Arsène. The detective begging the thief. Hearing him like this, in a total mess. A shiver ran through Arsène. He let his hand slide over the warm member, close, so close to its release.

 **"What do you want ? Tell me. What are you begging for ?"** His voice was hoarse. He could no longer control the vibrations of his own desire. The sound of his breathlessness. But he didn't care much about these details anymore. He no longer hid himself, he no longer played a role. **"I've never heard anything so beautiful... You... Begging. It's sublime."** He said softly, while his hand stayed there, without caressing. Just to make his presence felt. **"Look me in the eyes, Sherlock."**

Arsène had spoken firmly, almost authoritatively. He wanted to look into the detective's eyes as he sank into bliss. He wanted to know the color of those piercing eyes when they were obscured by desire and need. He wanted Sherlock to look at him when he reached orgasm. Let him remember that face and the man he had finally allowed him to fall from the edge.

Then the warm caresses began again. Skillfully. In every way that made the detective react. All these ways that Arsene had taken care to learn. Each movement, in slow rhythm, gradually giving rise to orgasm. Lupin kissed Sherlock, but it was tender, almost lovingly. To soften the high, to ease the descent. And because he wanted it. Arsene watched Sherlock for a long time. He breathed in their mixed fragrances, photographing in his mind the body shining with sweat. Record these moans, these supplications. He didn't want to lose anything of the man who was falling apart under him. He nearly forgot his own desire, while the detective sank into a state of intense bliss.

 

 

Sherlock let out low whine as he struggled to mentain eyecontact. He just wanted to throw his head back, press his eyes closed until he saw white and let out the most animalistic sounds his vocal chords could muster.

 **"Ahh, ple-e-ease anythi-i-ing!"** Sherlock moaned as Arsène started to stroke him in ernest now. **"Please let me-e."**

Sherlock was completly at Lupins mercy, laying boneless on the sheets. Feeling the knot in his stomach builing up for the sixth time and hopefully the last time. He was quirming, panting and moaning with every stroke Arsène did. It was so slow and than fast. Before Sherlock could get lost in these sensations Lupin slowed the speed again before picking up the pace.

Sherlocks nail digged into the thief shoulders and he stared in Lupin eyes which were as black as the pupil from desire and Sherlock wondered if his eyes also looked like that. Also he was certain he drew blood from the shoulders and suddenly nothing but the plain thought of that was more arousing than it should be.

His body arched and his hips stuttered and he looked at Arsène with a pleading look and before he could ask for Arsène to relase him from the torture the knot in his stomach poped. He didn't moved and stay in the arched position as he felt his balls draw up and his member pulse. And more than surprised with himself as he accually could mentain eye contact with Lupin as he finally fell of the edge and splashed in a ocean of relief, hormones, satisfaction and a mantra of the thiefs name.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the second part! The third coming soon.
> 
>  
> 
> Constructive criticism or any kind of criticism is welcomed!!!
> 
> Don't be shy!
> 
> See ya. Have a wonderful day!!!  
> SEH ~*_-~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is up!!!
> 
> Now It's Arsènes time to have some fun!
> 
> Have fun reading!
> 
>  
> 
> SEH ~*_-~  
> (((Translations from french to english are in the end notes)))

 

 

A groan escaped from Arsène's lips as the detective's nails sank deep into his skin. He would keep for several days the marks of their bodies rubbing against each other, the reddened traces of these moments shared. Marked by the detective genius. When the burning member pulsing, threw the light splashes of this mutual fall against Lupin's stomach, he felt like Sherlock's property. It lasted only a moment, but for the first time in his life his freedom was compromised. He would have done anything to make the detective pleading again and again.  
  
He kissed him softly, silencing the continual litany of his name. Then he shifted, lay down beside Sherlock so that the weight of his body didn't prevent him from resuming the normal rhythm of his breathing, while his own member always asked for attention.  
  
Arsène remained silent, drawing low circles on the detective's arm with his fingertips. He seemed innocuous, still lost in the mist of orgasm and pleasure felt. Human. Vulnerable. As he really was. Lupin wondered if all the lies he'd wrapped around himself to protect his safety would collapse at Sherlock's touch. But the truth was that he was already himself, that he had let this man look at his real identity. Who he was.  
No, he had forced him to look at him. He had took his chin, and had made him opened his eyes. And that was how it all began.  
  
**"Such an imperfect masterpiece..."**  
  
He whispered, not caring if Sherlock was listening or not. He spoke only for himself, to relieve the overflow of sensations.  
  
**"The imperfections, it's thanks to them that the absolute has seen. And you are absolutely perfect."**  
  
Then the reality struck him brutally, as if he had shared the detective's bliss and had scarcely emerged from a dream. He bit his lip as he felt his hips moving on their own, searching for friction, the warmth of the body next to him.

 

 

As Sherlocks head dived up from the ocean of pure bliss and the haze let his eyes focus again he felt Arsène laying next to him and stroking and humping his own member against Sherlocks leg. Sherlock remebered his plan suddenly and shiffed up to his elbows with a bit of trouble.

**"Here let me help."**

 

His deep voice rumbled that send a shudder throught Lupin which Sherlock could visibly see. He chuckled lightly and relaxed as he pushed himself upright and nudged the thief legs further apart so he could rest himself between. The detective looked up at Arsène and asked with a look if that's alright. He saw a small nod and smiled as he kisses Arsène with a mixture of relief and a new rush of adrenaline. Holmes kissed and sucked his way down to Lupins neck and licked at the sensetive spot he found earlier, while he massaged Lupins hips in a study rhythm. He saw the scrathes on his shouldes and mumbleled a 'sorry for that' into his shoulder before slowly kissing down the left site to a nipple. He stoped before his lips reached it and than suddenly licked a stripe with his tongue over it.

 

 

Arsène slipped his fingers into Sherlock's hair, moist and stuck with sweat. He tried to direct the movement, to keep control but he gave up eventually. He let his arm fall back on the mattress, weakly, while the detective apologized quickly for the marks he had left. The thief shook his head, lazily, just so he knew that it did not bother him. On the contrary, these still sensitive scratches would accompany the memory of that night.  
  
Almost without knowing it, his thoughts began to organize his next escape. He should have gone when he had had the chance to, but Sherlock's kisses on his skin were too addictive for him not to enjoy them. But before it becomes impossible to stop, he will find a pretext to get out of the room.  
The detective's mouth went down.  
Finally, Lupin will only escape after reaching his orgasm. He will apologize, get dressed quickly, go out and straight into the kitchen. The way he was about to make was rapidly developing in his mind. The secret passage behind the kitchen counter. The subterranean he had made built when he had designated this building, under the identity of an architect. Sherlock will only have the lighter as proof of this adventure.  
An uncontrolled and unexpected moan took him out of his thoughts, driving them away, making them disappear like the mist of drowsiness.  
  
**"Aah ..."**  
  
Arsène gasped and the detective was just kissing him and sliding his tongue on his chest. He wanted to say a spicy sentence as usual, on that intelligent mouth. Or perhaps on what a violinist is capable of doing to a human body, when he can tear sobs from a piece of wood. But the words remained in his throat, and his thoughts became a confused set of sounds and sensations. He could only say the name of the detective, clinging to it desperately, as his hips rose instinctively.  
  
**"Sh-Sherlock... Don't teas-e me."**  
  
He closed his eyes, let his head falling on the wrecked cushion.

**"Je... Continue... N'arrête pas."**

He couldn't even focus on his english anymore. It didn't matter, nothin did. Just the feeling from the mouth and the fingers on his hips. His whole world was for these minutes only depending on Sherlock Holmes.

 

 

Sherlock hummed in approvement and kissed his way down further. Before he reached Lupinns member he stoped let his fingers glide over it before taking it into both hands and slowly moving them up and down. His eyes don't moved from Arsènes face to study it and see what he liked and what not, Lupin eyes rolled slowly back into his skull as Sherlock experimented with a twist upwards over the head.

**"Détendez-vous, s'il vous plaît laissez-moi faire ça.''**

Sherlock asked a he removed one hand and leaned down. He kisses the base hidden in dark brown hair and licked up a stripe to the head, before he kisses the opening which was already shining, Sherlock would be offended if not.He looked up at Lupin for any sign of discomfort. Nothing, Lupin just laid relaxed on the bed.

**„Très bien.“** Sherlock hummed.

 He lowered his lips over the head and took Lupin inside his mouth. God, it's been such a long time since he last done that, and he shortly worried he lost this skills over the years but than he decided to level his skills back up with help from Arsène. Sherlock sucked and licked at the head without hurry or demand, the hand massaged the part he couldn't reach yet. Holmes didn't pushed Lupins hips down as he exprimentally lifted them and Sherlock only opened his mouth a bit wider and let Arsène take control again.

 

 

Arsène completely surrendered to Sherlock, giving him total control of his body, shivering at the words in French. He bit his lower lip to stifle groans becoming heavier and heavier. But when he felt the damp heat wrapping his member, throbbing against the detective's tongue, nothing could restrain his disordered groans.  
He only wanted to be entirely in the detective's mouth, letting himself sink into the mind-blowing sensation. He pushed the head, testing, silently begging to Sherlock to keep going. He needed more, viscerally. It was a paradise burning around him, but also in him. Spreading even in his lungs which breathed only an air saturated with lust. The knuckles of his fingers whitened as he clutched the blanket under him.  
He wanted this never to end, as much as he wanted his immediate release from this conspicuous torture. His legs widened a little more, as his hips rose, seeking without shame to feel the detective's mouth all around him.  
  
**"She-Sherlock, je ne peux..."**  
  
He was squirming on the bed now. His incoherent words and groans that were no longer restrained, the wet sounds of the detective's lips, the crumpling of the sheets were the only music that accompanied them.  
For a moment, a smirk appeared on the thief's face as he thought to the rumors about Sherlock. The virgin.  
Given his skill, his ability to operate every sensitive spot of the burglar, the newspapers couldn't be more wrong.  
  
**"Je... Je vais..."**  
  
He was close, so close. But only Sherlock's good will was able to let him sink himself in the intense orgasm that awaited him.  
This frightened Arsène, as much as a violent adrenaline ran through him.  
Sherlock Holmes had control, the same control that prudence and taste, the thief had never left to anyone. He was the man who directed, supervised, and acted. Nothing was left to chance, he didn't trust anyone. Only himself, his abilities, and his intuition.  
And the only man as intelligent as he was, and perhaps even more.  
He was above him, keeping Arsène's control between his curved lips.  
He felt almost overcome with this thought, a violent pleasure shook him. But he had not reached his orgasm. Not yet.  
He hardly opened his eyes to look at Sherlock. In his green eyes, devoured by the blackness of the pupils, only an interminable supplication and a palpable lust, as he noticed how the cheekbones stretched when the detective's mouth was busy.  
  
**"Seigneur."** He whispered.

 

 

Sherlock felt the pulses of pleasure on the penis in his mouth and he speeded up his movement. Wanting to bring Arsène over the edge and that with as much speed as possible. He could take Lupin now almost fully in his mouth and the little thrusts of his hips were heavenly. Sherlocks bobbed his head up and down not sucking but pressing his lips together holding his teeth away and licking the underside where the vein was as most prominent. Holmes moved up to the head and sucked lightly and ravished the opening mixing his spin with the pre-release. He hummed at the taste, and moved downwards to the base humming all the way, feelin the viration on his own lips being transported on the member in his mouth.

 

Arsène's hands clutched the detective's hair, to make sure he remained there, to keep himself between his lips, to accelerate the movement.  
His head fell on the bed, his mouth half-open as he moaned endlessly. He couldn't worry anymore if he didn't pull the loops too hard, he didn't care who was controlling. Because he was right, they both lost. And that the fall had never seemed so sweet.  
Then his orgasm came in powerful waves, his fingers tightening the dark hair. There was a blank, where nothing but intense pleasure in him and which he released in that warm mouth.  
He finally let Sherlock's hair go, laying and without energy. His chest went up and down quickly, but he felt like he was floating in pleasure. He did not want to talk, he had no need to move. Just stay so, be. His mind had fallen silent, and from his plan of escape there was not even a distant trace left.

 

Sherlock felt the hands fell from his curls and he lifted his head up slowly not to disturb the high of the thief as he swallowed and instantly felt his face crunch up at the taste. That never tasted good and having not done that in a while didn't made it better. He lifted his body up to lay down next to the other man whos chest was still heaving. Sherlock smirked to himself as drew in a deep breath to let it out with a relaxed sigh. 

**"Amazing, I really missed this."** Sherlock said into the air and tried to look for a clock in his current position. He had luck and could see the clock which was hang up high on the wall next to him. 

The old Clockwork with indicators showed half past three. Now Holmes also registered that all lights were out on the streets and just a lamp near the bed was turned on. But this only lamp was enough for Sherlock to observe the room more closely. They lay on the king sized bed in victorian style with darkblue sheets, next to the bed on both sides were little nightstands in a modern style and this pattern followed through the whole room. As his eyes completed the tour through the room and his eyes landed back on Arsène he saw Lupin watching him. His breathing evened out again and his eyes showed a normal reaction to the dimmed light in the bedroom. His face was still somewhat flushed but it could be counted more of a natural color. 

**"Bonjour."** Sherlock rumbled with his deep voice and smiled in Lupins face.

 

 

Arsène smiled, his breathing began to calm down.  
  
**"Bonsoir serait plus approprié. Ou peut-être bonne nuit."**  
  
He replied, chuckling softly. Before saying, a slight irony in his intonation.  
  
**"Donc, vous savez parler français. Vous m'aviez caché ce talent. Et de nombreux autres talents..."**  
  
The thief bent down and kissed Sherlock's jaw. He brought the blanket over their bodies, so that they wouldn't be cold. While he was absently caressing the detective's chest, his logical thoughts began to come back into his memory. The kitchen, the subterranean. He walked through the apartment mentally, looking for what he could have forgotten. But beside the furniture and a few unimportant papers, Lupin had made it all tidied up. He was too careful to take Sherlock to an address he was still using.  
  
**"C'était fantastique. J'ai passé un excellent moment avec vous."**

  
  
He would have liked to stay in the comfortable warmth, lying against the detective and enjoying a few extra moments of total plenitude. But he was aware that if he did not leave now, he would never leave again. He ends by asking :  
  
**"Est ce que vous avez soif ? Moi oui."**  
  
He got out of bed, held a groan at the loss of heat, and the bite of the cold on his bare skin. He searched for his clothes, mixed with those of the detective, and dressed without hurry. The worst mistake a burglar could make was to run away. The attitude was stronger than anything. Confidence had allowed him to escape many times. People only see intruders because they behave as intruders. His shirt was crumpled, and he didn't bother to button it. He leaned forward, kissing Sherlock's lips one last time.  
  
**"Restez ici, reposez vous."**  
  
Then Arsène walked towards the door, quietly.

 

 

With his mind muted by the few kisses from Lupin Sherlock stayed laying in the warm bed.

**„Of course I can speak french, it's not an hard language when you've already mastered englisch, german and latin.“** Sherlock mumbled into the sheets. Dispite his will, his body relaxed and driffed off into a light sleep.

 

Sherlocks eyes flew open with the noice of a clock hitting five and Sherlock sat upright in the bed which wasn't his, woken up by a clock which wasn't his and the whole room wasn't his either. The room still was slightly dark but the sun rose slowly and shone through the curtrains. **„Shit!“** Holmes was out of the bed and dressed in mere seconds and was running out of the room. His coat laid on the railing like it did yesterday and he fished for his phone in it. Quickly checked his messages.

 

_15 missed messages from Lestrade, 6 missed calls from Lestrade. 2 missed messages from Mycroft._

 

**Sherlock jumped down the stairs while he dialed Lestrades number.**

**„Sherlock where are you? Why are the crown juwels stolen? Why didn't you answer my calls? Did you had something to do with the burgulary?“**

**„Stop, okay, breathe, Charles.“**

**„It's still is Greg.“**

**„Okay, GREG. I'm at Seven Kings, Ilford the last time I had the chance to look at the street signs.“**

**„And how long have you driven after that?“**

**„Maybe a few minutes but I'm pretty sure I can hear a church.“**

**„Great there are more that seven churches in Seven Kings.“**

**„Thank you very much I know that too. And the crown is stolen because a thief stole it. Is that really that hard? And no I had nothing to do with the burgulary, I tried to prevent that.“**

**„And why didn't you call me than?“**

**„Because we agreed on no police.“**

**„We?“**

**„Yes. Gonna call you later, Gavin.“**

**„It's GRE!“**

 

Sherlock sighed as he pushed the red button. He looked though the livingroom, bathroom and the bedroom upstairs. He knew that calling for the thief was no use, he was long gone. But the detective searched for anything that could lead him into the direction of Arsène. He obversed everything twice just to be sure, before he reached the kitchen. He pushed, pressed, and pulled every surface. Nothing, frustrated he stomped on the ground.

Suddenly there was a mechanic _'click'_ and one lamp from the kitchen ceiling went off.

 

**„Huh, that's interessting!“** Sherlock liftet up his foot and saw muster on the tile showed the clockwork from the big ben tower. Holmes walked through the whole kitchen and memorised every tile. A sheep with lamb, a heard framed with rays of sunlight, a moon with clouds, a throne with ranks, a dog with a collar, a jester with shining bells, fruits in a bowl again with rays, a hand holding a shining pearl, a bed which almost looked like the one upstairs, a limousine with shining headlights, a pair of full lips, a princess tiara and fireplace with firewood but no flame.

**„That is a story board. That's brilliant. First The tower, than the crown or the throne with ranks? He wouldn't made it that obvious. So the throne it is.“**

 

Sherlock slowly stepped on it and pressed his foot down on the tile. Another mechanical click and another light went out. Sherlock smiled triumphant.

  **„What was next the car ride? No I made a clown of myself in the cellar.“** Sherlock stepped on the Jester and the light went out. He stepped on the limousine next, another light went out. Now only three lights were left. **„Okay good, uhm, the lips should be up next, than the bed. No don't think that obvious. The hand with the pearl than.“** Both lights went out. **„Only one left okay what do we have, sheep, heart, moon, dog, fruits, bed, tiara, fireplace. I mean he left why would he leave the fire on.“**

 

Sherlock breathed in deep and slowly stepped on the tile with the firewood. Sherlock quinted as he didn't heard the click and the light didn't went off but than the lamp swinged to a shelve and on a book with a shining leather band. Sherlock walked over to the book and pulled. Another mechincal sound and the ground behind him transformed itself into stairs.

**"I'm pretty sure there is an easier way for this."**

 

The detective raised a eyebrow but he grapped his coat from the railing and ran back to the kitchen and down the hidden stairs. He opened the torch on his phone and shone into the hallway. He kneeled down and saw that the dust and sand on the ground was rumpled. He followd these trails until he reached another pair of stairs leading up this time. He opened the bottom flap with one arm while holding the torch with his other. Nothing to see just an empty warehouse. Sherlock climped up the rest of the stairs and jumped out of the hole in the ground and closed the flab again. Holmes looked around. Indeed a empty warehouse.

Sunlight shone through a open door and Sherlock walked right through it and winced at the brightness. A loud 'clong' followed by other let the detective jump and look up so fast he thought he got whiplash.

**“A bloody church bell. A bloody church bell on St. Johns Road.”** Sherlock walked to the more busy street and hailed a cab.

 

 

 

Arsène sat on a small terrace in a large villa in the suburbs of London. He did not hear traffic of the city center, and he could almost believe he had gone back to France. He took a sip of tea, watching the gardener who looked after the flowers below. He had insisted that he plant a row of Lupine, ironically. Particular flowers, which stood proudly, to face the opponent, to look at the sky courageously. Almost with arrogance. In the same way that he looked at the Dreux-Soubise, years sooner, when he returned the Queen's Necklace. The arrogance of what he had become, being the gentleman-burglar.  
Arsène murmured at the top of the white smoke rising from his cup, while a smirk appearing on his lips, a few verses of the poet Jose Maria de Heredia :  
  
**"Et dans mon potager foisonne le Lupin."**  
  
In the center of the table was the Crown Jewels, which gleamed brilliantly under the sunshine of that beautiful morning. He whistled an old French song, observing the precious stones, and their chaste colors.  
  
**"Le bon roi Dagobert, a mis sa culotte à l'envers..."**  
  
A chuckles escaped him, before he was interrupted by a voice behind him :  
  
**"And the good thief Lupin put Sherlock Holmes upside down, mh ?"**  
  
Victory sat next to Arsène, who smiled.  
  
**"Good Morning to you too."**  
  
She spread out on the table the newspapers that all titled this spectacular and incomprehensible burglary. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to show her that he had already read the information. Victoire cast a disapproving glance at him.  
  
**"You saw what you did ? You're proud of yourself, I suppose."**  
**"Rather, yes. Nobody has yet figured out how I did it."**  
**"Except that famous Mr.Holmes. He seems to be a genius."**  
**"He is, but I doubt he will tell this whole story."**  
  
Arsène sank into his chair. He still had the marks, left by the detective's nails, deeply buried in his back. Victoire opened his eyes wide.  
  
**"I see, agitated night ?"**  
**"Yes. Listen, even if he tells everything that happened, I don't care. He could never find me."**  
**"Do you really think so ? And if he takes this case as a personal challenge ? He will never stop hounding you."**  
**"Victoire... You're annoying."**  
  
Arsène crossed his arms on his chest. Obviously he was in danger of letting the detective see his true identity. But without danger, without thrilling adventures, what would life made for ?  
The burglar put his phone on the table, in front of him, with a apologizing look. It was impolite, and it was not in his habits. But he was waiting for a very important call. He served a cup of tea to Victoire.  
  
**"Look, Victoire. The only fingerprints in the Tower are those of Sherlock Holmes, on a duplicate of the crown, broken on the ground. I took him to an address that I no longer use, whose secret undergrounds guide to warehouses that I don't use anymore. And I don't intend to linger in England. I still have some small burglaries around London to do, then I would go back to France. "**  
**"You let him see your real face, didn't you ?"**  
  
Lupin nodded. Victoire sighed and put a forelock of hair around.  
  
**"Thief isn't a work. You have to stop, find stability, someone who will love for a lifetime..."**  
**"You know how stability was good for me in the past."**  
  
He replied, more harshly than he would have liked. The woman looked at him, sorry.  
  
**"I don't want to anything bad happen to you, that's all."** She took his hand tenderly.

**"I'm constantly scared for you, Arsène."**  
**"Victoire... You can ask me what you want, you know. But never. Never ask me. To not be Arsène Lupin."**  
  
She looked into his eyes. The sound of a received message interrupted the moment. He apologized, looked at the screen and smiled, then said :  
  
**"I found a client for the crown."**  
**"Who would be crazy enough to buy a masterpiece like this ? No one can have it at home without being immediately arrested !"**  
**"There is someone who doesn't risk anything having them."**  
**"Who ?"**  
  
Victorie asked, curious. Arsène replied with a laugh :  
  
**"The British Government !"**  
  
He showed her the screen of his phone, where Mycroft Holmes agreed to buy back the Crown Jewels.  
Victoire laughed softly, lifted the crown and laid it on Arsène's head. He observed himself in the reflection of the window behind him, before whispering :  
  
**"Arsène Lupin 1st, Emperor."**

 

  
A man was pacing in front of the 221B BakerStreet. He walked on the sidewalk, looked at the passers-by, then leaned against the wall. The traffic of vehicle and crowd was very different from the tranquility of his villa in suburbs. However, he liked the two atmospheres. He arranged his beard and his long red hair. A small pair of round glasses were on his reddened nose. A loose shirt, with paint spots on it. A perfect artist without any future, who drinks a little too much and who crosses the city in vain search for inspiration.  
He watched the windows of the flat. He would have loved to be there, when Sherlock Holmes will opens the door and will see the Crown Jewels on the table of the living room. With the card of Arsène Lupin and these few words :  
  
**"Arsène Lupin steals only the rich, and given the amount your government has been willing to pay me to give back this masterpiece, it is more than just rich. So I agreed to sell the Crown Jewels. It would have been magnificent in my personal collection, but all the English and tourists should be able to enjoy it freely. The money I have received will be offered to associations that I support in France and all around the world. Money must be used to do good, and none of the most beautiful jewels will be worth a human life.**

  
**I avenged both Waterloo and Jeanne d'Arc, and I hope that England will be honest and will remember the day of the victory of Arsène Lupin. Perhaps you could tell it in your Story books.**  
**These small competitions and this love of challenge must not undermine our already complicated relations.**  
**Apologize to Inspector Gregory Lestrade of Scotland Yard. I was forced to use his identity for a while. But you must confess that I was an inspector more real than the real one, and far more competent.**  
**I send my fondest thoughts to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and have excellent memories of our meeting.**

  
**Arsène Lupin, gentleman-burglar."**

 

 

 

A few weeks later after the crown had as magically returned to it's original place in the Tower of London, there was a man sitting in a huge chair in a builing in South France. He had the curtrains tucked back and positioned the chair near the window and rays of sunshine shone thought the open curtains. He sat there on the chair in a relaxed position, his leg folded over the other. The man was playing with a lighter and let the sunshine dance on the silvery surface of the metal and highlight the fair skin on his hands.

He stood up suddenly and placed the lighter on the desk near the chair and wrote something on a piece of paper be brought with him. Than he shrugged on his long dark blue Belstaff and walked without hurry outside and let the door fall closed. The man walked down the road and was typing on his phone as he bumbed into someone.

**„Désolé monsieur.“** Mumbled the man and carried on walking.

The man he bumbed into just shock his head and walked to the door the other just left. As he wanted to take out his key he felt a piece of paper in his pocket. He took it out.

 

 

**„Merci Monsieur Arsène Lupin, gentleman-burglar.**

**-SH"**

 

 

****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS STORY!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and you'll stay with me!!!!  
> A sequel is already in the baby shoes. 
> 
>  
> 
> THANKS!!!!
> 
> Translations in order:  
> "Je... Continue... N'arrête pas."  
> = "I ... Continue ... Do not stop."
> 
> "Détendez-vous, s'il vous plaît laissez-moi faire ça.''  
> = "Relax, please let me do that."
> 
> „Très bien.“  
> = "Very good."
> 
> "She-Sherlock, je ne peux..."  
> = "She-Sherlock, I can not ..."
> 
> "Je... Je vais..."  
> = "I ... I'll ..."
> 
> "Seigneur."  
> = "Lord."
> 
> "Bonsoir serait plus approprié. Ou peut-être bonne nuit."  
> = "Good evening would be more appropriate. Or maybe good night."
> 
> "Donc, vous savez parler français. Vous m'aviez caché ce talent. Et de nombreux autres talents..."  
> = "So you know how to speak French, you hid this talent, and many other talents ..."
> 
> "C'était fantastique. J'ai passé un excellent moment avec vous."  
> = "It was fantastic, I had a great time with you."
> 
> "Est ce que vous avez soif ? Moi oui."  
> = "Are you thirsty? I am."
> 
> "Restez ici, reposez vous."  
> = "Stay here, rest."
> 
> "Et dans mon potager foisonne le Lupin."  
> = "And in my kitchen garden the Lupine abounds."
> 
> "Le bon roi Dagobert, a mis sa culotte à l'envers..."  
> = "Good King Dagobert, put his panties upside down ..."
> 
> „Désolé monsieur.“  
> = "Sorry Sir."
> 
> „Merci Monsieur Arsène Lupin, gentleman-burglar.  
> = "Thank you Mr. Arsene Lupine, gentleman-burglar.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Constructive criticism or any kind of criticism is welcomed!!!
> 
> Don't be shy! ^^
> 
> See ya. Have a wonderful day!!!  
> SEH ~*_-~

**Author's Note:**

> Translations in order:
> 
> "La cachette habituelle ?" "Oui, comme d'habitude, Marco. Merci."  
> ="The usual hiding place?" "Yes, as usual, Marco. Thank you."
> 
> "Mr.Holmes... Je ne savais pas que vous embrassiez si bien... Comme un français. "  
> ="Mr.Holmes ... I did not know you were kissing so well ... Like a Frenchman."
> 
> "Moi non plus."  
> ="Neither did I."
> 
> "Rester garé ici ne serait pas prudent, Monsieur. Voulez vous que je continue de rouler pendant le temps nécessaire ?"  
> ="Staying parked here would not be prudent, sir. Do you want me to keep driving for the necessary time?"
> 
> "Peut-être... Est ce qu'Octave a mis la courronne en lieu sûr ?"  
> ="Maybe ... Did Octave put the crown in a safe place?"
> 
> "Evidemment, comme d'habitude, patron."  
> ="Obviously, as usual, boss."
> 
> "Parfait, parfait."  
> ="Perfect, Perfect."
> 
> "Quelle est cette manie de toujours tout verrouiller ! Mr. Holmes n'est pas mon prisonnier, il est libre."  
> ="What a mania to always lock everything in! Mr. Holmes is not my prisoner, he is free. "
> 
>  
> 
> Soooo, 
> 
> I decided to split this in three parts and see how the reaction is on the first part.
> 
> The second and third ones are coming soon. Stay tuned!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Constructive criticism or any kind of criticism is welcomed!!!
> 
> Don't be shy!
> 
> See ya. Have a wonderful day!!!  
> SEH ~*_-~


End file.
